


i fall, i fall, i falter

by affectingly



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angry Sex, Hate Sex, Knotting, Love/Hate, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-22
Updated: 2012-09-22
Packaged: 2017-11-14 19:41:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/518828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/affectingly/pseuds/affectingly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been two weeks since the last time. Two weeks since Stiles let frustration and loneliness and need get the better of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i fall, i fall, i falter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [daunt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/daunt/gifts).



> Once upon a time, the lovely Daunt had a livestream and [she drew a picture](http://totallyshameless.tumblr.com/post/28828555348/and-then-i-drew-this-because-i-desperately-need). This fic was inspired by her art and her thoughts on it. I hope she enjoys it!
> 
> Title taken from "Day Old Hate" by City and Colour.

It's been two weeks since the last time. Two weeks since Stiles let frustration and loneliness and need get the better of him. When the meeting ends, he shouldn't stay. 

He shouldn't even acknowledge Derek when he grunts, "Stiles, we need to talk."

"About?" he asks, feeling Scott's eyes on him as he pauses, waiting for Stiles to ask him to stay too. Stiles waves him off, shoos him toward Allison. It's better this way. 

Derek looks past him, waiting for everyone to get in their vehicles, to drive away out of even wolf-hearing range. Stiles palms his keys, feeling the body-warmed metal bite into his hand as he squeezes them tight. 

"We need to talk about how you're not returning my phone calls. Do you think you're better than the rest of the pack?" Derek's body is all tension, his muscles taut, biceps flexed, which Stiles can see because of that stupid, obscene tank top Derek won't quit wearing.

Stiles crosses his arms. "Are you telling me those phone calls were actually pack business? I told you already. I'm done. We're done. My number is not 1-800-Alpha's Bitch. I'm here for Scott."

"You're a liar," says Derek. He takes a step toward Stiles and Stiles takes a step back.

His stomach twists, his hands balling into fists. All his energy is vibrating through him and out of him and he hates how he can't stand _still_ , like his words won't have the same weight as Derek's because his body can't back them up. 

"I don't have to listen to this," he says after a moment, sucking on his bottom lip before shaking his head. "Staying was a bad idea. I don't know why I thought you would _ever_ be able to have a normal conversation."

He turns on his heels then, his keys jingling as he singles out the right one. The Jeep's door creeks in protest as he yanks it open a little too viciously, but he slams it closed behind him and jams the key into the ignition. 

It starts to life at the same time as Derek appears at his window. Stiles jumps and then his mouth pinches up and he flips Derek off.

Derek looks furious. "So I guess in addition to being a liar, Stiles, you're also a damn coward. Good to know." 

And it burns Stiles up. He can't explain it, how thoroughly those words get to him. How much he _hates_ that Derek would even say them, would even imply that he believes them. Stiles is not a coward. 

He's not even aware of making the conscious choice, but suddenly he gets out, and _shoves_ Derek. He shoves him with all his might and he knows he's not actually strong enough to do a damn bit of damage, but Derek stumbles back out of what must be pure shock. 

Stiles follows right along, stepping in front of his Jeep, the headlights hitting his back and casting hard shadows across Derek. Derek's eyes are bright with warning and danger, but Stiles can't _think_ over his own anger, he just -- he just wants this FEELING to go away. This feeling where his anger is too big for his own body.

Derek's nose flares, like he can't get the _stink_ of Stiles out of it and it just makes Stiles want to lash out because he hates these stupid fucking werewolves and how he doesn't even have control over when and how to share anything he's thinking. 

"I'm not a coward! I've never been. I'm not the one -- I'm not the coward between the two of us!" Stiles hits Derek again, pushes him, fists coming down on his chest. He doesn't care how stupid it is.

Derek doesn't even reply. He makes a noise more animal than human and then he moves. Stiles' back hits the front of his jeep and Derek's thigh is between his legs and Stiles doesn't have room to _breathe_ much less keep himself from rocking down on Derek's leg.

He wants to fight it, wants to fight himself more than Derek. He hates how weak he is because no matter how little else Derek will ever give him, he'll still want **this**.

"You can't just --" he starts, nails digging into the skin of Derek's arms, hard enough to draw blood even though it's a hollow victory. He can already feel Derek healing under his fingertips. "I'm not here for you to push around, asshole!" 

"Shut up," snarls Derek, no other acknowledgement, just his hands hard on Stiles' hips, his teeth sharp against Stiles' neck as he bends low to cage him against the Jeep.

Derek's mouth is hot, slick suction that will probably leave a bruise. His stubble drags against Stiles' skin, burning it, and Stiles should be _annoyed_ , he shouldn't be getting hard. Because he's not -- he doesn't _belong_ to Derek. He's not Derek's to mark.

"Cut it out! I'm not wearing a scarf in June," shouts Stiles. He shoves against him, and Stiles may be his own kind of unstoppable force but Derek is definitely an immovable fucking _object_. 

Derek just growls and -- and then he's tipping his head and dragging his forehead against Stiles' neck, nudging Stiles' chin up so he can rub the sweat gathering on his brow against Stiles' _throat_.

And Stiles has never been more pissed off and turned on at the same time. "You possessive friggin' jerk! I do not need all your little beta brats thinking I'm claimed _territory_."

"You think they're going to notice a little sweat, Stiles?" Derek's mouth is back up near his ear, his hands closing around Stiles' wrists and pinning them to Stiles' sides. "When I'm done with you, you're going to smell like you're mine from the inside out. You won't be able to get rid of my scent for a month."

Stiles' breath stutters out of his lungs, tripping over itself to leave him dizzy and gasping for air. His cock throbs in his pants and he rides Derek's leg shamelessly, _needing_ to relieve the awful wave of lust Derek's words send over him. He's drowning in it.

He twists his wrists against Derek's grip but eagerly meets his mouth when Derek finally kisses him. He wishes he could tell himself this isn't what he wanted from the moment he let himself stay behind tonight.

But he can't even tell _Derek_ that because when Derek releases one of his wrists and slides his fingers into Stiles' pocket, they both know he's going to find the little packet of lube Stiles stashed there. Derek smirks down at him, smug and full of himself while Stiles' whole face feels too hot. 

"You want to tell me again how you're not _mine_ , Stiles?"

Stiles' eyes narrow. "Just because I like getting fucked doesn't mean I like you. Maybe I'll go, see if Jackson wants to do the honors instead."

It's a horrible bluff and it's not fooling either of them, but it still results in Derek's eyes flashing and his claws lengthening, scraping against Stiles as he abruptly pulls back and yanks Stiles around. He shoves him down hard over the front of his Jeep, Stiles' shirt bunching up and one of Derek's hands vice-like on his neck, holding him in place. 

Derek's body presses down over him, heavy and solid, and Stiles is trapped and overly warm. He bites down on his own lip, vicious in his attempt to keep his moan from Derek, but he can feel Derek's lips curl into a smirk. 

"That's just pathetic," says Derek, lips brushing Stiles' ear. "Is that what you are, Stiles? Just a needy mess, desperate enough to let even Lydia's cast-off have a go? Or is that the appeal, Jackson stuck it to her and now he could --" 

"Shut up," snarls Stiles, shoving back against Derek, bucking under his weight. “You think talking about Lydia is going to hurt me? You think anything you say is going to matter to me?”

Derek’s laugh is harsh, and he rocks his hips against Stiles’ ass, sucking a mark behind Stiles’ ear like he has any right. “I think everything I say matters to you.”

The truth of it feels like a knife between his ribs, stealing his breath and making him lash out. He jams his elbow into Derek’s ribs. “Well, let me _enlighten_ you then,” snarls Stiles. “The only think I care about is whether or not you’re going to just stand there drooling on me, or you’re actually going to fuck me.”

Stiles feels Derek’s claws scrape against his skin as Derek starts yanking at his jeans, tearing them open and shoving them down Stiles’ hips. 

“You want this,” says Derek. There’s a catch in his voice, an edge to his tone that sours Stiles’ stomach. He doesn’t want Derek to care enough to check, he just wants him to take.

“I want fingers in my ass, followed quickly by your cock. Can you manage that? Do you need a fucking diagram?” says Stiles, letting his bitterness and hurt sharpen every syllable.

Stiles hears the packet of lube being ripped open, and then Derek’s fingers are probing, pressing, two sliding in as Stiles tries not to sigh in pure _relief_. He shivers, mouth open and smearing spit against the hood of his Jeep. 

Derek’s fingers pry him open, and Stiles hates and loves how good it is, how Derek’s lack of patience makes Stiles’ cock throb. He never meant for it to be this way. He’s not a fucking idiot, Stiles know this isn’t good or healthy or right.

They should just leave each other alone. They should walk away and pretend none of it happened, but they can’t and they won’t. 

Instead, it’s moments like this. It’s angry words and harsh touches. It’s Stiles seeing stars with his eyes crammed shut and blood blooming across his tongue from biting down too hard. 

“Is this what you wanted then?” says Derek. He sounds wrecked. He sounds angry and hurt, and it makes Stiles hate him more and not at all. “You want to pretend like this is enough?”

Stiles ignores his question. He can’t lie right now, he doesn’t have it in him. He never can when Derek’s doing this to him, never has mastered the ability to shut off his vulnerability, his need and desire. 

"I told you what I wanted, and I also told you I could get it somewhere else. So either fuck me, or get off me." Stiles isn't sure how he gets the words out, but he knows they hit home because Derek's fingers slide out only to be replaced by the blunt pressure of his cock pushing in. 

It steals his breath, has his nails scraping against the hood of the Jeep. The sound and feel is grating, like chalk breaking across a board. Derek's breath is warm against his ear, voice rough when speaks, "Come on then, let me hear that smart mouth, pup."

"Don't call me that." Stiles hates it, hates the way it makes him flush, the way it makes his cock ache, the way it feels like an insult and an endearment all at once. 

Derek nips at his ear. "Whatever you say. You're calling the shots, aren't you?"

Stiles lets out an unsteady breath, takes another because he means to tell Derek to shut the hell up, but Derek's hips slam forward. Stiles squeaks and tries to cover it up with a groan, but he knows Derek heard it.

Derek's lips curl, brushing against Stiles' neck. "What, nothing to add? Am I not doing a good enough job? Maybe it's not too late to call Jackson?" 

"Fuck, I _hate_ you," says Stiles, gasping for breath. His head swims, every thrust Derek gives him feels like another taunt. 

There's a pause, a moment filled with nothing but the slick sound of skin slapping against skin, of rough breathing and smothered moans, and then Derek whispers, "Liar."

Stiles groans, and he fumbles for one of Derek's hands, dragging it from Stiles' hip to his cock. "I don't care what you think. I care whether or not I get to come any time soon."

Derek follows Stiles' direction, long fingers wrapping around Stiles' cock, and for a moment, Stiles thinks he's actually going to make this easy for once. Call it temporary insanity, Stiles doesn't know why he would ever let himself even hope. 

Derek gives him a few quick tugs, and then his grip tightens at the base of Stiles' dick. "I'm not ready for you to come yet." 

"Asshole," spits Stiles, but he pushes back into Derek's thrusts, pleasure making his dizzy with want and need.

"In fact, I don't think I want you to come until I've got my knot inside you. How about it, Stiles? We haven't done that in a while." 

It's a cruel thing to tease Stiles with, even for Derek. It has been a while, he's right about that. They haven't done that since the first time, since Stiles was stupid enough to believe these moments meant anything.

Stiles knows he should say no, but he doesn't want this to be over. He doesn't want this to be one more time when he drives home before the sweat has even cooled on his skin. 

Derek licks the back of Stiles' neck, lips latching on and sucking another mark that will bruise and last for days. 

"Say yes," says Derek, and if Stiles didn't know better, he would almost think Derek sounds as desperate as Stiles feels.

"Yes," says Stiles. He crams his eyes closed and lets himself pretend for a little while that it is true, that Derek misses him, wants him for more than angry fucking.

He lets himself imagine that Derek loves him.

Derek kisses his jaw then, a soft thank you that Stiles doesn't want. He shivers, turning his face away, and bites down on his own lip when he feels the press of Derek's knot. 

Stiles knows how this goes, knows to bear down, to take deep breaths. He likes this process, he likes the way it forces him to concentrate, to relax when his instinct is the opposite. 

It narrows his focus, his entire world to just Derek, just the feel of Derek's knot pushing inside of him, stretching him, destroying every limit Stiles thought he had. 

His breath stutters, catches as he tries to hold back a whine. He doesn't want Derek to hesitate, he just wants it done, wants Derek inside of him like this, wants his knot. "Fuck, fuck, just -- oh god."

Derek gives one more hard thrust and then he's in, filling Stiles, owning him. Stiles feels dizzy, every ragged breath he sucks in burns his throat, and the air is too cold in his lungs. 

"Shh, shh," says Derek. "That's it, you're doing so good."

Stiles whimpers. He wants to kick himself for saying yes to this. Why did he do this to himself? He forgot or maybe just willfully ignored the part where doing this with Derek makes him feel defenseless, unguarded, wide open for Derek to take everything. 

He doesn't even realize he's gone soft until Derek gives him a gentle squeeze. "There you go, come on. Let me take care of you, pup."

"I told you -- I --" he breaks off, he can't think. He can't be mad right now when it's exactly what he needed to hear, and Derek knows it. Instead he swallows back a sob and shifts into Derek's touch.

"You feel so good, Stiles, always feel perfect when you take my knot," Derek mutters into his ear.

Stiles' fingers scrabble at the hood of the Jeep, needing something to ground him. He stretches out, reaches until his fingers curl into the groove between the hood and the windshield. 

Derek blankets him, his body heavy and warm against Stiles. His fingers tighten around Stiles' cock, jacking him in a steady rhythm that matches the nudge of his hips. Stiles can feel Derek's knot pulling at his rim, just enough to make him shudder. 

Derek kisses him again, kisses his neck and his jaw, kisses his cheek. It's too much, it's everything he never wanted to admit he still craves from Derek. Why can't it be like this always? 

Stiles' cock is getting hard again, throbbing between his legs, and Derek is coaxing him toward orgasm with his fingers and his words. "That's what you wanted, that's it. You could never get this from anyone else, could you?"

"Please." The word is out of his mouth before he can stop himself. 

Derek makes a satisfied sound. "It's okay, I got you. I got you." 

Stiles sobs, he can't hold it back anymore. His fingers have gone numb from holding onto the hood so hard, and he's right on the edge, he's so close.

"Just a little more, that's good. That's so good. You can do it, Stiles. Come _on_ ," says Derek.

His thumb brushes over the tip of Stiles' cock, and then again, and he nudges that much deeper, mouth sucking another mark into Stiles' skin. It all comes together in a hot rush, spilling over Derek's fist. He clenches around Derek again and again, his knot thick and hot inside of him. Derek jerks and with a groan, he's coming, too. 

Stiles' legs go weak beneath him, the only thing keeping him up is his grip on the Jeep and the wall of Derek's body. Derek's petting him all over, rubbing his sides and murmuring softly to him. Stiles doesn't know what he's saying. It doesn't matter. 

Eventually, Derek's knot goes down enough to slip out of him. Stiles can't turn around when Derek pulls back, can't stand the thought of looking at Derek right now. His hands are shaking when he reaches to pull his pants back up. 

All he really wants is for Derek to pull him into his arms, to hold him close and show the same kindness he's only capable of while he's buried inside of Stiles. But Derek won't because he doesn't know how.

"You should go. It's getting late," says Derek. 

Stiles nods. He doesn't look back until he's inside the Jeep again, putting the gearshift in reverse. Derek is watching him go, ever-present frown on his face. Stiles grips the steering wheel and promises himself this was the last time.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [tumblr](http://affectingly.tumblr.com), you should come say hi if you're in to that kind of thing.


End file.
